Rats

In an instant I lost all ability to hear. I could see his lips moving underneath his pencil-thin mustache, but there was no sound. I looked down at the blank sheet of paper. My right hand gripped the pen.

“How did I get here?” I asked myself. “Think.”

Nothing. I couldn’t remember a thing from before moment my hearing went.

Then mustache man slammed my head against the desk. The sound came rushing back. Time sped up.

“Write!” he shouted at me. “Start writing now! I won’t say it again.”

I shook the stars from my vision. Okay. He wanted me to write something. I could do that.

“I want all the names. And last known addresses. Cell phones. All of it.” Then he smiled. “I’m going to visit each one personally. It’ll be a visit they won’t forget.”

Okay, names. What’s the first name that comes to mind? Jimmy. Sure. Write that.

“Are you messing with me?” he said leaning forward until his face rested inches from my own.

He pulled back his fist.

Before he could pummel me, the door burst open. A tall guy in suit put his shoulder into the ribs of mister mustache, sending him off the wall and down to the ground. He stood and looked me right in the eyes.

“What did you tell him?” he asked, oddly calm.

“Nothing,” I said. I was pretty sure that was true.

“Good man. I’ll take it from here.” He delivered a swift kick to the same set of ribs he had crashed into.

Mustache man screamed in pain. “You better kill me, man.”

“Two things,” said the guy in the suit, pointing right at me. “Forget all of this.”

Done.

“And the other thing?”

“Run.”